


Hope and Suffering

by Mockingjay468



Series: The Paths We Tread [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Battle of the Gelion-Ascar Stockade, Beta'd, F/M, Quite A Bit Of Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mockingjay468/pseuds/Mockingjay468
Summary: Haleth is filthy and starving and completely bone-weary but the siege goes on and her people need her.Her father and brother died and they looked to her, they called her chief, and Haleth will not disappoint them.Haleth's people are in dire need when the elves arrive. Along with their chief.
Relationships: Pre-Caranthir | Morifinwë/Haleth of the Haladin
Series: The Paths We Tread [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125998
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Hope and Suffering

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I am procrastinating doing any actual writing by searching through my old writing and I found this which I wrote right when I first started writing this AU. I don't know what I'll do with this, but I thought you might all like it?
> 
> [oliviacat3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacat3/pseuds/oliviacat3) did read through it for me.
> 
> And I hope you enjoy!

Haleth is filthy and starving and completely bone-weary but the siege goes on and her people need her.

Her father and brother died and they looked to her, they called her chief, and Haleth will not disappoint them.

She ties her hair back, tightens her vambraces and listens to the reports on the dwindling supplies of water and how many more people have died of disease or wounds. Her sword hangs on her hip as she marches around the encampment and her hand curls over the hilt every time she hears the orcs begin up their battle cry.

She knows they will not last much longer.

Food ran out over a week ago and her people will die from lack of sustenance if the orcs do not break through the final defence first. Hope is a fruitless thing but Haleth smiles all the same when the children and her people look to her in desperation.

“Keep your chins high,” She says. “There is hope yet.”

She gives no reasoning to her words but the ragged remains of the Haladin grab at them greedily and so she never refutes them. They deserve what little comfort she can provide.

She keeps a grim smile on her face that is painfully forced; a tight grip on her sword that cuts into the palm of her hand; and bright words on her lips that tastes like poison upon her tongue.

* * *

She will never admit it but the feeling of relief at hearing the silver horn and seeing the host of elves, bright as they crest the hill, very nearly makes her collapse and sob – but Haleth is made of far sterner stuff than that and she has been taught far better by her father.

She ties her hair back, tightens her vambraces and joins the fray, joined by those few of her people who are not ill or too old or too young.

She may be saved by these elves but she refuses to be completely helpless.

It is beyond satisfying to hear the thwick of metal against flesh and to cut down the enemy that had been tormenting her people for too long. Orcs fall to her blade like leaves fall from the trees in autumn. She is furious and she burns and she fights like it.

The battle is almost over too soon.

Haleth finds herself standing in the middle of the desecrated field, her sword held loosely in her hand and her clothes spattered in black blood. She breathes heavily.

An elf rides up and dismounts fluidly to land next to her. She turns as he removes his helm, revealing an almost feminine face with dark hair braided over his shoulder.

There are two things that connects all of the wildly varying stories Haleth has heard of elves as she has grown up – that they are stunningly beautiful creatures and extremely prideful. This one is no exception to the former with a warm complexion and plentiful freckles and silvery eyes so Haleth is expecting to be dismissed.

It is to her surprise when he instead gives her a short bow.

“You fight very well, Lady,” He says in Sindarin and it takes Haleth a moment to translate what he has said into her own tongue. “You lead your people, correct?”

“Yes.” She wipes her sword on the hem of her shirt (which does not help it to clean) and sheathes it, offering her hand in greeting. “Haleth, daughter of Haldad and Aldwine, chief of the Haladin.” She stands up taller, trying to ignore the regrettable height difference between them, and raises her chin imperiously to meet his eyes.

“Caranthir, son of Fëanor and Thaliel, Lord of Thargelion.” His eyes flicker slightly, examining…something. “Do you require any further assistance Lady Haleth?”

“What assistance would you be willing to offer?” Haleth’s pride riles against accepting aid but she pushes it down. It would be folly to deny her people help they so desperately need.

“We have food and water, cloth for clothes and tents can be quickly arranged.”

“And the price.”

He shakes his head. “No price Lady. We were late enough as it is.”

She narrows her eyes. “We shall repay you when we are better equipped to do so,” She declares, her voice brooking no argument. “Your help would be most appreciated.”

* * *

The next three weeks pass very quickly.

There is much to do, after all, and time tends to fly when your hands are busy.

Tents borrowed from the elves are erected a little way past the destroyed settlement and her people relocate within the day, taking with them what little survived the encounter with the orcs.

Only four of the few Haladin who fought by her side survived the battle and those she makes her direct subordinates. She is in desperate need of help – her sister-in-law is sick, in the houses of healing – and these four have proved themselves in battle.

Déohild is just past her majority, recently orphaned and now in charge of her two younger brothers, younger sister and younger sibling, but is a natural born commander and her age is not too much of a disadvantage. Saeling and his sister Saewine were friends of her father and Haleth would trust them with her life. And Márith she knows little about, other than she survived in the wild for a long few years on her own before stumbling by chance on Haldad’s group and joining up under the promise of safety.

Haleth gives each of them their roles and she spends her time going every which way, aiding where she can and where she is wanted and is subsequently not too interested in the elves. They come each morning from their own camp, quite a distance away, bringing food and water, and just join in with the workers each day.

Haleth barely notices they are there – they wear soft browns and greens as opposed to the shining armour she had first seen them in and blend in to the crowd of Men almost seamlessly.

She has found herself giving orders to elves without realising she was doing so until they did that short little bow that is apparently a sign of respect and call her ‘Lady’ in the lilting Sindarin tongue instead of Chief as her own people do.

She has a short break – for once there is no-one coming to her for something to do or to ask for her help – and so she takes a short walk to _find_ some work. Idleness makes her skin crawl and her mind wander to thoughts and feelings she has left behind.

“It’s very rude for my people to keep their hair down.”

Haleth stops short. She knows that voice.

She turns and sees Caranthir, dressed in the same simple clothes as his followers, surrounded by a circle of small children and braiding a length of rope.

“Really?” One of the smallest children – Haldan, Haleth realises sharply – reaches up and touches their hair. “Should I…should I tie up my hair?”

“No.” Caranthir’s hands move even as his eyes are elsewhere. “You’re not an elf.”

He nods but still looks slightly worried.

“But that doesn’t answer my question!” One of the other children says. “Why is your hair in those _particular_ braids?”

“Oh, you want the _meaning_ of the braids. Ah, well that is a secret.”

The girl looks slightly disappointed but perks up as someone calls them all for lunch.

“I didn’t know Lords among elves played with children in the mud,” Haleth comments, flopping down onto the ground beside him and taking up some of the fibres from the sack beside him, beginning her own weaving.

Caranthir shrugs, focussing on his work. “Children are usually better behaved if they have something to do. And I don’t need my mouth for making rope.”

“That I understand.” She watched his hands work admiring his nimble fingers.

“I have a…proposition of sorts,” Caranthir says suddenly.

“Oh?”

“Come north with me this winter. You and your people may fully recuperate without having to battle the elements and come spring you may rebuild.”

“As your vassal?”

“No. As your own, independent people. My brother gave me too much land anyway and our people can’t populate it. It is there and it might as well be used.”

“You would…give it to us? Just like that?” She rose an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see.

“There would be _some_ conditions. I’m not completely stupid. But I doubt establishing trade is beyond the realms of reason.”

“And if we wish to move further west?”

“I cannot stop you, nor would I want to. But I would still extend the offer of shelter in the north.”

She nods. “I shall think on the matter.”

They stay silently side by side until the children return – with more in tow – and Caranthir restarts his explanations of elvish culture.

She has to leave soon after as Saewine catches her eye and she is needed again but the matter he brought up does not leave her mind as she works.

She had originally been planning to leave – that had been the vague intention growing in her mind – but he had offered her safety for the winter and land, further down the land. Not as his vassal, but their own land.

He had attached no strings in that first offer but Haleth knows that Men are prone to playing pretend in politics and Elves must be far better at deceit than her own kind, in the way they can keep their faces so carefully impassive.

Something to think on then.

**Author's Note:**

> Non-Canon Names:  
> Aldwine - Old Friend (Halish)  
> Thaliel - Strong Daughter (Sindarin) (My attempt to translate Nerdanel into Sindarin)  
> Déohild - Secretive Youth (Halish)  
> Saeling - Wise Snake (Halish)  
> Saewine - Wise Friend (Halish)  
> Márith - Homeward Bound Woman (Halish)


End file.
